


[REDACTED]

by thesecretmichan



Series: We Do What We Must (Because We Can) [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Slash, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretmichan/pseuds/thesecretmichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Steve, who had tried so desperately (for so <i>long</i>) to escape the facility, was now willingly taking people little more than strangers back down into Stark Science to save someone who might not even be alive anymore. </p><p>"Sure you wanna do this, kid?" IRoNMAN asked quietly beside him.</p><p>Steve closed his eyes briefly. "My file did say I never give up -- ever," he quipped, taking a breath and slipping inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[REDACTED]

**Author's Note:**

> WHOOPS I STARTED ANOTHER FIC UM I CAN TOTALLY WRITE TWO FICS AT ONCE AND DO CLASS RIGHT? 8') Okay, so I really really REALLY LOVE the Portal games and one day a little nugget of an idea appeared and wouldn't go away until I wrote it - Enjoy!

The sky was blue.

Steve stared up and down and all around him, knees buckling as he fell to the rusty brown earth. The grass scratched against his hands and shins and the wind (the _wind_ \-- _real air_ ) ruffled through his hair. No machinery clanked or hummed and no robot boasted in his ear. An ant crawled over Steve's hand.

"The sky is blue," he rasped, his voice weak and something unrecognizable. When was the last time he'd spoken? The last time he'd looked up at his surroundings and not seen artificial or half-conscious skies? He felt simultaneously fulfilled and so _empty_. What was he supposed to do now? There was no next test, no further floor to climb, no hollow voice from a speaker to tell him what was _next_. His throat was raw, filled with glass, and grains of sand prickled behind his eyelids.

Steve looked up to the sky and cried. His breath hitched and stuttered, and fat, wet tears rolled down his cheeks and splattered to the dry, cracked earth. When mucus dripped from his nose, he merely wiped his arm against his face. Steve did not keep track of how long he laid there, forehead pressed to the dirt and fingers curled around the grass, but the sun was still high in the sky when he next sat up. Steve took a breath.

The sun was bright. It prickled and warmed his pale skin and yet Steve felt-- cold. Steve coughed; his nose was still running and he untied his jumpsuit so he could blow it against the sleeve. He paid the sticky, wet mess no mind as he fastened it back around his waist, standing on shaky legs. His long fall boots felt off balance and slightly unnecessary here, but Steve kept them on for some reason he could not fathom. He turned, facing his weighted companion cube, and sighed softly. Steve fell again to his knees, arms wrapped around the scuffed and charred box in front of him and buried his face in the cool, dense steel.

Digging his fingertips into the indentations around the heart of the cube, Steve stood, dragging the it up with him. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's go."

Steve picked a direction and started walking.

***

The grass tickled his shins where the boots didn't quite cover his skin. Steve sighed softly, shifting the companion cube in his grip before setting it down. The sun was lower now, oranges and pinks and yellows painting the sky in a perfect portrait. Steve stared.

Beside him, the cube continued to hum. He hadn't noticed it in the facility, but without all the machinery around, standing in the empty, endless field, there was a faint, yet noticeable and incessant buzz coming from somewhere inside the companion cube. Steve's lips twisted ruefully.

"Alright, alright," he said quietly; he picked the cube up again. "We'll keep going."

Eventually, the sun set and Steve had to take another moment to himself to gape in awe of the _stars_ and the way they littered the sky like thousands of tiny droplets of the conversion gel. Steve sat on the cube, arms braced behind him, and blinked up at the sparkling night sky, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

"The sky is beautiful," Steve murmured. "Isn't it?" The cube continued its low tune. Steve nodded and hopped off, hauling it up again.

Steve continued.

***

Steve didn't stop again until the grass turned to rock. He jerked his head down, the feeling of rubble beneath his boots a bit unexpected. He stared left, then right, noting that the spindly, two lane road stretched on as far as he could see. Steve lowered the cube once more before stepping back onto the loose gravel. He looked back to his companion. "What do you think?" Steve asked it softly.

The cube sang its unending hum in response.

Steve shook his head. "I spend god knows how long surrounded by talking AI without a word only to start speaking to the one thing that can't talk back." Steve sat down on the road and snatched a pebble between his fingers; it felt cool and solid in his hands. Steve tossed the tiny rock in the air. "I wonder if there are other... people here."

His answer came when twin lights blinked on just over the horizon. Steve started, jumping to his feet and ogling the disks with a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration. He grinned at the cube. Would these new people like him? How different would they be from the scant glimpses he'd caught of human behavior? Would they even _be_ people? Did robots rule the world outside of the facility, too?

A sudden blaring alarm sounded and Steve jerked his head back in front of him just in time to see the twin lights screech to the halt. Metal clunked and Steve braced himself for the possibility of just having moved from one humanless prison to the next.

"What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the road?" someone brimming with authority demanded. Steve straightened automatically, one hand lifting to shade his eyes. "Are you alright?" the voice asked again and Steve could hear footsteps crunching towards him. His muscles tensed; he was half-blind in unfamiliar territory, but Steve was sure if he grabbed his companion cube and made a run for it, he--

" _Hey_." Steve paused, gaping at the suddenly very _real_ person in front of him. "Are you injured anywhere?" the man asked, palms raised out placatingly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Unbidden, Steve croaked, "I'm Steve." This was another person, another human, someone who didn't need to test him or kill him or...

"I'm Phil," the man replied, slowly lowering his hands. "Do you-- need a ride?"

Steve nodded jerkily. "That would be nice, thank you."

Phil waved a hand, calling, "Hop on in," as he turned back towards the... thing. Steve jogged over to grab his cube and the man wondered, "What's that you got there?"

Steve clutched his possession tightly. "M-my weighted companion cube," he managed at last, stumbling over the words. He cleared his throat. "I have to--" _to what?_ "--keep it with me," Steve finished lamely.

The man, his face now shrouded in shadow, shrugged. "You can throw it in the back," he said, jabbing his thumb at the wide, open metal box behind the... trunk? No, that wasn't right. Steve shook his head.

"Thank you," Steve remembered to say, hefting his cube up and into the box.

"Where 'you headin' to?" Phil asked him when Steve climbed into the... car beside him. That sounded a little better, at least. His boots thunked almost comically against the metal floor as he tried shifting into a comfortable position; Steve blushed and stammered an apology. The man -- Phil, Steve reminded himself -- was staring at Steve now, though Steve kept his gaze on the road in front of them. Steve could feel the man's gaze like static electricity, regardless.

Steve shrugged then. "Anywhere is fine, really."

Phil couldn't quite seem to wrap his head around Steve's answer, eyes still boring into the side Steve's skull. The ride was quiet for awhile after, Steve blinking sleepily up at the stars, temple perched against the glass. Quiet was fine with Steve, really: the car thrummed, he could still hear the cube's faint hum in the... bed behind him, and the tires rolled across the road almost like a turret's lullaby. Out of nowhere, his stomach made a frightening noise and Steve jumped in his seat, eyes wide.

Phil quirked a brow. "Hungry?"

Steve turned to meet Phil's gaze finally. "I'm sorry?" he said after a moment, one hand fisted in the front of his tank. His gut gurgled again.

"That thing that happens when you don't eat?" Phil tried again, amused.

Steve was utterly lost. "I--" When was the last time he had eaten?

Phil said, "There's a gas station a few miles down the road. We can stop there and get something to eat. Sound good?"

Steve nodded and managed a small, "Yes." The words rose up against the back of his teeth, almost like bile. There were so many things he wanted to ask: What year was it? What did people do? Did they know about GLaDOS? Hell, did they even _care_ about GLaDOS? Letters jumbled and swirled around beneath his eyelids, and Steve, suddenly exhausted, leaned forward to rest his head between his knees. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hungry, but it was as if Phil's words had flipped a switch in him. Steve was starving, Steve was literally _dying of thirst_ , and he felt if he moved, he'd puke up nothing but metal and ashes.

The-- truck (Steve finally remembered) stuttered to a stop outside a rickety-looking building. Steve slowly sat up, curled fingers resting over his mouth (just in case). Phil hopped out of the truck and waltzed in, beckoning Steve with a wave of his hand. Steve followed, but not before casting a forlorn glance back at his cube.

Oh, well. He'd be back for it.

"Hey Phil," the girl at the counter greeted, not even bothering to look up from her magazine. Phil gave her a small wave regardless and meandered down one of the aisles to inspect small cakes in plastic packages. Steve felt ill just looking at them. Beside him, the girl fiddled with a small white, remote-type object in her hand, tugging out earphones as she finally noticed Steve. "Oh, hello there," she grinned. "And who might you be?"

Steve started, biting back the foolish urge to flee. He swallowed his terror. "I'm Steve," he murmured, holding out his hand after a brief hesitation.

She smiled again, but this time it was small and sad. "Sorry, Steve."

Steve froze, the muscles in his back tightening. "Wha--?"

"No hard feelings, kid," Phil whispered behind him.

There was a small prick in his neck and then the world went black.

***

The amount of times he'd woken up in strange environments had rendered Steve pretty much immune to that initial flash of terror. What Steve wasn't used to, however, was being hooked up to numerous machines, all beeping for attention. Steve jerked his wrists and found he couldn't move them.

"You're awake, I see."

Steve turned his head slowly to the side. This woman was different from the last -- a redhead, as opposed to a brunette -- and everything about her screamed professional, from the sleek bodysuit to the pistol at her hip. Steve blinked, trying to clear his head. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy.

When he finally managed to string a coherent sentence together, it was: "Where's my cube?"

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Safe," she slowly admitted, as if it were some great personal sacrifice to tell him. Steve tried to move his legs this time and she shook her head. "I wouldn't do that if I were you -- those restraints are designed to hold men twice your size."

"Why am I here?" Steve asked next, eyes squinted against the haziness of whatever was being fed into him.

"You were extraordinarily dehydrated and malnourished, as well as in the early stages of shock. It's a good thing we got to you in time," she continued, still sitting in the same position, not a hair out of place.

Steve wondered if she was a robot, too. "Is it a common thing to tie people up during relaxation time, then?" he rasped.

She smiled, and Steve desperately wished he hadn't said a thing. "You know, you've caused quite a stir around here. Stark Science mysteriously disappears about fourteen years ago -- the CEO, the employees -- literally all traces of everything Stark is wiped off the map. And then you appear, in a cornfield, dressed up in a jumpsuit with the Stark logo right on the front, along with various other technologies we've never even dreamed about creating. Care to explain?"

"I didn't see any corn in that field," Steve said blandly, inching his head back to its normal position. His vision swam terribly. 

Steve could practically feel the woman's frown; it felt like tiny little knives jabbing into the side of his skull. She said again, "How long has Stark Laboratories been operational under the government's nose?"

This, Steve could work with: Steve was used to silence. You could ask all the questions you wanted, but at the end of the day, you couldn't make Steve talk if he didn't want to.

And Steve definitely didn't want to.

"Where is the entrance to Stark Laboratories?" she asked. "What kind of technology have they been creating?"

Steve closed his eyes and blocked out her questions.

***

The next time Steve woke, another new face was there to greet him. Steve sighed. He was starting to miss the robots.

At the soft exhalation, the man looked up, his eyes practically sparkling. "Good morning! Er, afternoon. It's about two now, actually." He picked up his chair and scooted it closer to Steve's bedside. There was a clipboard clutched between his fingertips as he plopped his elbows on the mattress. "So I was looking at your boots -- I have to say, they're incredible. Gyroscopic mechanism, right? That's what makes them land rightside up every time?"

Steve pursed his lips, arching one eyebrow at the man.

The man's babbling continued unhindered. "Honestly? The arch in the heel and auxiliary support are ingenious. How far have you fallen in them before? We keep raising them up and dropping them with the test dummies and everything lands perfectly every single time."

Steve shut his eyes against the noise. This wasn't really worth his energy -- not that it mattered much, actually. Steve had essentially just traded one prison for another.

"Actually, speaking of your boots, we noticed some scarring on the backs of your calves -- similar to the positioning of the resting place on the top of your boots, but -- those boots weren't some type of leg brace for an old injury were they?"

Steve looked at the man again, his expression purposefully bored.

"Sorry, that was rude. Let's start over. I'm Dr. Banner -- Bruce." Bruce grinned down at Steve. "I'd shake your hand, but you're otherwise occupied at the moment, so." At Steve's continued silence, Bruce sighed. "Look, you're probably pissed as hell at us right now. We took your stuff, tied you up, and started interrogating you the second you woke up. But I'm gonna be honest with you -- if word gets out about this, it could cause a mass panic. Stark Science not abandoned, but actually churning out new, strange technology? It's enough to frighten anyone. We're just trying to figure out what's going on. Well, I am, at least. I can't say the same for Director Fury." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Man's had his noggin knocked around one too many times, lost a few too many screws."

" _I heard that, Banner_ ," a voice crackled from a speaker above them. Bruce jumped, but Steve regarded the disembodied voice evenly. It wasn't the first time _that_ had happened, either.

Bruce shrugged. "So, do you want to talk or anything?" Steve rolled his eyes, turning his face away and Bruce blurted, "What if I gave you your cube back?"

" _Banner_!" the voice barked again.

This time Steve _did_ twitch, if only because Bruce was offering him something he wanted. Then he muttered, "Why should I believe you?"

Bruce shot a worried look at the reflective glass behind them and then said, "If you cooperate, we could technically keep you as a consultant -- you could go wherever I go, pretty much. It's not as much clearance as say, Natasha, but it's better than being tied to a bed, right?" He chewed on his lower lip.

"How do I know you're not lying just to get me to talk?" Steve retorted, hands flexing against the restraints. He was slowly gaining back his cognitive function, and he definitely felt better physically than he had before Phil (was that even his real name?) picked him up.

Bruce looked at the glass again and, when nothing happened, gingerly reached over to release the restraints on his arms, then legs. "Is this a good incentive?" Bruce asked, almost shyly.

Steve considered. "What do you want to know?"

***

Steve didn't tell them everything, obviously; he wasn't an idiot. Bruce may have used the term 'consultant', but it still didn't change the fact that he wasn't allowed to leave (Shocker). Words like 'proper protocol' and 'discretionary clauses' were thrown around, as well as thirty-seven (Steve counted -- what else was he supposed to do?) different stacks of papers to sign.

He'd learned a few new names: Darcy, the smiling girl from the gas station, Natasha, the frightening interrogator, and Director Fury -- who wasn't actually a disembodied voice, but a very irate man with an eyepatch. Steve stared at it silently the entire time he'd spent signing his 'contracts' to see if it would piss the man off (it did. Steve counted the small victory as his own). Perhaps most surprising of all, after Steve was 'hired', they actually did let him see his companion cube again. 

"Hey, buddy," Steve whispered quietly to it, mindful of Bruce still tinkering with the pieces of his boots (his _boots_ ) in the center of the lab. Steve took a moment to appreciate that this prison, at least, fed him solid food and didn't require him jumping through any physical hoops (the metaphorical ones were still up for debate).

The companion cube, whose humming had noticeably dimmed since Steve'd last seen it, started buzzing anew, almost happily. Bruce jerked his head sharply at the noise, his brow furrowed.

Steve smiled, then quietly admitted, "They're sentient, you know."

Bruce's tool immediately clattered to the metal table and he rushed over to Steve's side of the room. He pulled up the nearest stool, the feet scraping loudly as Bruce scooted as close to Steve as humanly possible. "They're sentient?" he asked, voice quivering with excitement.

“Yeah, that's what --he said," Steve faltered; he'd told them that there'd been an accident (true) and nearly everyone had died in said accident (mostly true). He'd also told them about the various tasks he'd had to complete to work his way out of the facility and the various broken robots that had barred him at every given opportunity. The only part (the most important part really) he'd left out was GLaDOS. As far as anyone here knew, Stark Science had collapsed on itself and there very conveniently was no other way in or out. They didn't know about GLaDOS, or his insane need to test, or his multiple attempts to kill Steve. He didn't know _why_ exactly he hadn't told them and it worried him a little bit. Did he not tell them because he felt some sort of frightening camaraderie with the AI? Or was it some strange, twisted need to protect these new people? Steve had no doubt if he told them about the intelligent systems residing inside Stark Laboratories that they'd need to see it all for themselves. They'd want to study GLaDOS, study the turrets, the neurotoxins. Steve was also certain that the second they stepped foot in Stark Science, they'd be signing their death sentence. You couldn't just _prepare_ for GLaDOS. Not without Steve's intimate knowledge of the facility.

And Steve wasn't in a sharing mood.

 _"There was even going to be a party for you. A big party that all your friends were invited to. I invited your best friend, the Companion Cube. Of course, he couldn't come because you murdered him. All your other friends couldn't come, either, because you don't have any other friends because of how unlikable you are. It says so right here in your personnel file: 'Unlikable. Liked by no one. A bitter, unlikable loner, whose passing shall not be mourned. Shall_ not _be mourned.' That's exactly what it says. Very formal. Very official. It also says you were adopted, so that's funny, too."_

"He?" Bruce prompted, looking at Steve as if he'd said it multiple times already.

He probably had, Steve realised with a slight cringe. Steve really needed to get used to the fact that he really didn't have a reason _not_ to talk anymore. "Someone I knew," Steve said vaguely. "Before I left the facility."

Bruce regarded him for another moment more before turning to the cube in front of them. "We've been testing your companion cube, actually. It's strange; it's not hollow -- we x-rayed it to be sure -- but there are no visible seams anywhere on the cube. We can't figure out how to take it apart without damaging the contents."

Steve suddenly lunged forward, wrapping his arms about the cube. "You can't take him apart," he told Bruce urgently. "You _can't_."

Bruce shook his head, politely ignoring the way Steve slipped up and used a gendered pronoun for the cube. "We're not. We don't want to risk there being some sort of failsafe that destroys the cube before we can study it. Or, at least I don't." He smiled then, peering at Steve over the rim of his glasses. "I may have told them that there was a huge possibility that SS would've put some type of firewall in to stop their technology from being used. Howard Stark was notoriously paranoid and, since I'm the resident expert on all things Stark, no one's really willing to go against me to test that theory yet."

Steve felt something... nice, something warm bloom in the center of his chest. "Thank you," he said, managing a real smile for once.

Bruce grinned back, his eyes bright and brimming with perspicacity, and Steve wondered just exactly how much Bruce knew Steve wasn't telling them. "So what else can you tell me about the portal device you carried with you?"

Steve sighed, his lips quirking in amusement, and explained it again.

***

Steve sat in Bruce's lab, all the lights dimmed but one, just... talking.

"--I mean, really, how many times can they ask me to retell the same story?" Steve grumbled, chin on his palm. The cube had long since been cleaned, the sides gleaming, the pink heart once again visible. Steve ran a hand along it almost absentmindedly. " That's all I do, when I'm not wandering around eating their weird protein bars." The protein bars were exceptionally foul, but necessary. Apparently Steve was seriously underweight. "I'm beginning to think they've just run out of busy work for me to do. I just..." Steve sighed, "don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

Above him, the video cameras crackled and the dull _shnk_ of the door lock slid into place. Steve looked up at the noise, brows furrowing. The one light in the room blinked off.

All Steve managed was a startled " _um_ " before the humming picked up tenfold and the weighted companion cube _opened_.

The cameras spit sparks suddenly and Steve clambered out of his chair, stumbling for where he thought the door was. "What did I do, what did I _say_?" he hissed, feeling along the wall. He found the door handle and yanked at it, but the door didn't budge. Steve turned back to the cube, eyes wide. Glowing green circuitry lit up the inside of the companion cube, a flat, rectangular screen in the center of it all. Steve hesitated, then asked, "What do you want?"

Text flashed across the screen, small, and Steve tiptoed back over to the cube.

_Hello. How are you, Steve?_

Steve frowned. "Hello..." he started slowly. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

_It's been an interesting few years, to say the least. I suppose you're wondering what's going on?_

"I've given up the notion that anyone will tell me anything, really," Steve said dryly. "But yeah, an answer would be nice."

_You are unsure of the next required step, correct?_

Steve frowned again. "Correct," he confirmed.

The cube hummed, then spit a few new lines out of text out. _This room is secure: video surveillance has been disabled and unauthorized persons are prohibited from entering unnecessarily. You are of sound mind and body and you have been in no way coerced to care for me. Is this all correct, as well?_

"Correct," Steve replied and resisted the urge to fidget.

_Running Program: BUCKiE. Please input proper voice command to continue._

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Steve burst out, throwing his arms up in the air. "I've been used as a guinea pig, nearly murdered more times than I can count; I've been shot and bruised, thrown in an incinerator, inhaled deadly neurotoxins; I've escaped that damn facility and been captured again every time, only to to be _kicked out_ by the same AI that tried to kill me!"

_Voice authorization accepted. Commencing Run Program: IRoNMAN._

"--So you can take your voice commands and your cryptic bullshit and forget it! Let me out of here," Steve seethed, gasping from the frustration of it all.

"Wow, kid, who shit in your cornflakes this morning?"

Steve jumped again, jaw dropping. Later, he'd take the time to appreciate the fact that complaining about his life's injustices to a sentient cube was apparently the magic word. The screen in front of him went black and then a red-rimmed gold blob appeared. That voice, that _voice_ , it _couldn't be_.

"GLaDOS," he whispered hoarsely.

The screen sputtered momentarily, the sound eerily like a laugh. "Close, but no actual cigar. I do have a nifty acronym of my own, though. IRoNMAN -- the Initiated Recovery of [Non-Mandated] Anthony's Neurophysiology. Nice to meet you."


End file.
